


because he's a poet

by red0aktree



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dyslexia, F/F, Fluff, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Poetry, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 09:52:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4387265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red0aktree/pseuds/red0aktree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy and Murphy meet in the university library. Well, really, they met years ago, but that's not the point. The point is, they're kind of perfect for each other -- even though Murphy is a bit of a dick, and Bellamy is the king of the campus. </p><p>University!AU, dyslexic!Murphy; contains some drinking, a bit of pretentiousness, and a lot of falling in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a warning: I do not have, nor do I intimately know anyone who has, dyslexia. I tried to research the subject, but if I have made an offensive mistake, or my portrayal is inaccurate, please let me know! 
> 
> Thanks, and I hope you enjoy!

The first time Murphy met Bellamy he was rudely awoken by the harsh screech of metal. In reality, it isn’t fair to say it was the first time they ‘ _met_ ’, because they had technically known each other for almost two years. Bellamy had been in the background of Murphy’s entire college experience, someone he technically _knew_ but didn’t really _know_.

Beyond passing greetings and one memorable incident of, “Dude, I’m really sorry about this, but I accidently leaned my chair back on your backpack and I think that awful crunch was your calculator,” they first spoke at 11:50 pm in the university library. Murphy jerked his head up from the desk, where a rather unsightly pool of drool was forming, and fixed Bellamy with a glare.

Bellamy was standing beside the printer, which was clunky and ancient, but the only one the students had access to. The machine was spitting papers out, scattering them about the room, and making an unholy grinding noise. Bellamy’s hands hovered over the display screen, before he pounded on the side panel. The grinding only got louder.

Murphy glanced around the room. It was empty save for the two of them.

“Fuck,” Bellamy cursed, and Murphy was quite pleased to see him so distressed. Everyone knew Bellamy Blake. He was always calm and collected, always organized. To see him in this state was quite the treat, indeed.

“What the hell did you do to it?” Murphy asked, rubbing his eyes and yawning. It wasn’t the first time he’d fallen asleep in the library.

“I didn’t -- I didn’t do _anything_ ,” Bellamy lamented.

“Well obviously you did,” Murphy said, standing and stretching his hands over his head.

“Okay. Okay, clearly this thing isn’t stopping. Come on, let’s go.” Bellamy shoved Murphy’s bag against his chest, swinging his own over his shoulder. He waved his hands in Murphy’s direction, shooing him from the library.

“What the fuck?” Murphy asked. He obeyed Bellamy’s command, but not without a scowl. “I didn’t even do anything. Why are you making me leave?”

“Because we were the only two in the room, and when Jaha comes back he’s going to know it was one of us. I didn’t think you’d want to be the one stuck in there when he loses his shit,” Bellamy explained, hurrying Murphy out of the building. Outside the air was cool, and the campus mostly deserted.

“Fair point,” Murphy nodded. Jaha wasn’t known for being the most forgiving of the library employees. “I could have just turned you in, though.”

“Another reason I made you leave,” Bellamy laughed. “You weren’t doing any studying in there, anyway.”

“Hey!” Murphy defended, fishing in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes as he followed Bellamy toward the student parking lot. Technically, he should be walking the other way, since his dorm was on the other side of campus. Murphy just didn’t feel like ending the conversation quite yet. It wasn’t every day he got the chance to talk to King of Campus: Bellamy Blake. Bellamy was there on a leadership scholarship, but decided to major in historical literature, and on top of all that, he was also the captain of the debate club. “I was _too_ studying. You know, _before_ I fell asleep.”

“Whatever,” Bellamy laughed, and Murphy couldn’t help but think it was a nice laugh. “I see you in there all the time. You’re always sleeping.”

“You would be too if your roommate was always banging his boyfriend,” Murphy said, blowing smoke through pursed lips. He raised the now glowing cigarette up to the other boy, one eyebrow raised. “You mind?”

“Only if you don’t offer me a drag,” Bellamy smirked, taking the cigarette from Murphy’s pale fingers. They stopped walking, reaching one of the only cars in the student parking lot. It was a gray Land Cruiser, a bit beat up but still in good form. “Isn’t your roommate Nathan Miller?”

“Yep,” Murphy answered, only slightly alarmed that Bellamy knew that. It was a small campus. Word got around. Murphy took back his cigarette, ignoring the warm feeling when he placed his lips on the spot Bellamy’s had just vacated.

“Who’s he fucking?”

“Monty Green.”

“Thought so,” Bellamy took the cigarette back, nodding to the Land Cruiser. “Need a ride?”

“I can walk.”

“A ride is faster,” Bellamy reminded.

“Not supposed to get in the car with strangers. Bet you don’t even know my name,” Murphy challenged, the cigarette now back between his fingers. He had touched Bellamy, just briefly, as they passed the stick between them. His skin was warm.

“We’re hardly strangers,” Bellamy chuckled. “And your name is Murphy.”

“Hmm,” Murphy tsked. “Half credit. Know the rest of it?”

“John. John Murphy. Now what’s mine?”

Murphy studied Bellamy’s profile, the stillness of his face. He was good looking, and had an easygoing smile. Murphy half hoped they could be friends someday.

“Bellamy Blake.”

“See? Not strangers. Besides, I’ve driven Nathan home before. I already know where you live.”

“I’ll ignore how creepy that statement is,” Murphy said, dropping the spent cigarette and crushing it with his dirty Converse. “Because technically you do owe me one.”

“I do, do I?” Bellamy asked, and his tone felt a bit too familiar, a bit too teasing. It felt like flirting. Murphy didn’t complain. When Bellamy unlocked the car door, Murphy climbed in.

“For agreeing not to rat on you to Jaha.”

“I don’t actually think you ever agreed to that,” Bellamy considered, starting the car. “But if you’re willing to keep it a secret, then I am more than willing to give you a ride home. Actually, I think it warrants more than a ride.”

“More than a ride?”

“Well,” Bellamy snuck a quick glance and Murphy, who watched with curious eyes. “I would offer to buy you dinner, but I think offering you a place to study next time Nathan and Monty decide to hang out would be more well received.”

“You’re offering to study with me?” Murphy’s eyebrows were raised in surprise.

“Sure,” Bellamy shrugged. “We’re in the same department. We could help each other out.”

“Yeah, I guess. And we do have a class together.” Technically, they had more than one. But Murphy wasn’t about to admit that he knew that.

“We have three,” Bellamy corrected, clearly not abiding by the same social rules as Murphy. That wasn’t a surprise. “So how about it?”

“Could work.” Murphy forced the excitement out of his voice, replaced instead by cold apathy. “Tomorrow afternoon after Kane’s?”

“Perfect,” Bellamy’s smile was genuine, and it forced a smile to Murphy’s own face. Bellamy put the truck in park, nodding toward Murphy’s dorm. Murphy gave quick thanks, and slipped briskly inside. 

 

 

* * *

 

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	2. Chapter 2

When Murphy entered Professor Kane’s English Composition II class, he spotted Bellamy already seated in the third row. Murphy quickly looked away, head ducked as he trekked to his spot in the back. Murphy knew the rules. They might be able to talk at midnight in the school parking lot, or do the occasional keg stand together at a party, but in class, around people that mattered, they couldn’t be friends. That was just how socialization worked.

Once again, however, Bellamy broke all the rules. “Hey, Murphy,” he called from his seat. Murphy froze in the isle, about two rows behind Bellamy. When Murphy turned around, Bellamy was twisted in his seat, a smile on his face. “We still studying after this?”

“Um,” Murphy opened and closed his mouth at a loss for words. “Yeah? Yes?”

“Cool,” Bellamy grinned. “See you after class.”

Murphy took his seat, still confused at what had just happened. He glanced nervously around the room, waiting for the accusing stares that were sure to follow that rather public interaction. None came, however. No one had even noticed.

Murphy turned back forward, watching Bellamy from behind. He was talking to Clarke, the beautiful blonde who was constantly pinned to his side. Murphy was pretty sure they were dating, though they were rarely touching and he’d never seen them kiss, so he couldn’t be sure. Bellamy always had a girl or two on his arm, guys as well on occasion. And on the other side of the universe, there was Murphy, who rarely talked to anyone beside his roommate and his roommate’s boyfriend. Monty’s best friend Jasper came around the dorm sometimes, and the two got along alright. Aside from that, Murphy was usually alone. He was used to it at this point. He’d accepted it.

That didn’t change the fact that he and Bellamy existed in two completely different worlds. Bellamy should not have been smiling at Murphy from his seat, and Murphy certainly shouldn’t have been smiling back.

After class, Bellamy waited for Murphy at the door. Clarke stood with him, and the two were chatting aimlessly. When Murphy approached, his tattered bag slung over his shoulder, Bellamy nodded.

“Hey, I’m Clarke,” the blonde said. “John, right?”

“Call me Murphy. Are you studying with us?”

“Not this time, Bellamy is just giving me a ride home.”

“Clarke was just telling me that you were in the literary magazine last year,” Bellamy said. “Is that true?”

“Yeah,” Murphy said, toeing the floor shyly. “I wrote a poem.”

“That’s incredible,” Bellamy praised. “Freshmen don’t usually get in.”

“Yeah,” Murphy swallowed, anxious about the attention he was getting. “I know. You jealous, Blake?”

“Hell yeah I’m jealous,” Bellamy laughed. He seemed immune to Murphy’s spiky nature, his knee-jerk reaction to being appreciated. “I’m not any good at creative writing. You could probably teach me a thing or two.”

“Probably not,” Murphy snorted. They had reached Bellamy’s car, and Murphy took the back seat, letting Clarke climb in shotgun. “You’re one of those history kids.”

“And?” Bellamy asked, turning the key in the ignition. Clarke watched the interaction with interest.

“History kids are unteachable.”

“I can agree with that,” Clarke interjected. Bellamy scowled.

“I’m not unteachable,” Bellamy argued.

“Oh yes you are,” Clarke laughed. “Remember the time we tried to make tiramisu? Proof that you’re unteachable.”

“Oh my God, Clarke, okay, you are making this seem like I fucked everything up,” Bellamy huffed. “When really, _you_ were the one who had shitty instructions.”

“You _did_ fuck everything up!”

“I forgot one ingredient!”

“Coffee! Coffee was the ingredient you forgot! It’s a _coffee_ -flavored dessert!”

“Goddammit Clarke, fine, I’m unteachable. Now get out of the car.”

When Bellamy smiled, it lit up his whole face. Clarke’s smile was nice as well, but it wasn’t brilliant the way Bellamy’s was. They both laughed for a moment, before Clarke gathered her stuff and climbed from the vehicle. Murphy climbed out as well, ready to take the seat Clarke had vacated. Outside of the car, Clarke pinned Murphy with a serious look.

“You’re right, he really is unteachable. And definitely don’t ask him to cook for you,” Clarke warned.

“I’m a great cook!” Bellamy shouted through the open door. Clarke hushed him, and bid Murphy farewell. Murphy watched her walk inside the lobby of her apartment before climbing inside the car.

“Just so you know,” Murphy began, leaning back in his seat. “Once my dad made a pumpkin pie and forgot sugar. So, I kinda get it.”

“Thank you,” Bellamy sighed dramatically.

Murphy quickly found that it was easy to laugh with Bellamy.

Bellamy’s house was small, as was to be expected of a college student. It was remarkable that Bellamy had a house at all, seeing as most students rented apartments or suffered through dorm living.

The house was old, and made of dirty brick, but it was humble and sweet looking, like Bellamy himself. There were two overstuffed, mismatched couches in the living room, and a decent sized television. Everything was neatly cleaned, though there was small stacks clutter throughout the various surfaces.

“Do you live with roommates?” Murphy asked, inspecting a framed photograph on the wall. It was of Clarke, arms wrapped around a giant redwood tree. The color was incredibly clear, and appeared professional.

“Yeah,” Bellamy dropped his bag on the couch. “You met Raven Reyes? Engineering student?”

“Yeah I know Raven,” Murphy said as he moved to the next photograph, this one of a girl he didn’t recognize. She had dark hair and bright eyes, and was sitting cross legged on a sandy beach, her hair blowing in her face. It had the same sharp appearance, and Murphy found himself looking for a watermark or signature, something to identify the company who took it.

“She’s my only roommate. Her boyfriend used to live here too, but he turned out to be a total prick.”

“Hmm,” Murphy hummed in acknowledgment. He pointed to the next photo on the wall, also of the dark haired girl, this time hanging upside down from the branch of a sycamore tree. “Who is this?”

“That’s my sister, Octavia.” Bellamy’s voice was fond. “She was about sixteen in that picture.”

“How old is she now?”

“Eighteen in December,” Bellamy said proudly. “She still lives in D.C. with my mom.”

“You guys close?”

“Always have been,” Bellamy nodded, then gestured to his backpack. “Should we get to it then?”

“Sure,” Murphy shrugged. “But first, who took these pictures?”

“I did,” It was Bellamy’s turn to shrug. “My dad got me a really nice camera for my birthday one year, so I dabble in photography occasionally.”

“Of course you do,” Murphy chuckled, and it was true. Of course Bellamy Blake would be good at photography, just like Bellamy Blake was good at everything else. Just like Bellamy Blake was nice to everyone he met, including John Murphy of all people. _Of course._

Bellamy ignored Murphy’s statement and herded him to the kitchen table, where they pulled books from their bags, and stacked them with the pretense of studying, or working on homework, or something. But as it turned out, studying at Bellamy’s house involved a lot less studying and a lot more chatting about Nintendo 64s and the way Bellamy’s sixth grade teacher introduced him to creative writing. Once those topics became obsolete, it turned to discussions about Bellamy’s home in D.C. and the novel Murphy was writing and the two boys soon found that the sun was setting.

“I don’t really feel like today was productive,” Bellamy laughed, glancing out the window at the pale pink sky.

“No,” Murphy shook his head. “No, it definitely wasn’t. You smoke in here?”

“Backyard,” Bellamy jerked his thumb toward the back of the house, standing from his seat. Murphy followed him into the yard, flicking his lighter and illuminating the cigarette pinned between his lips.

“Want one?” Murphy offered Bellamy his pack.

“I don’t smoke,” Bellamy answered, stealing the lit cigarette from between Murphy’s lips.

“Of course you don’t,” Murphy laughed, taking the stick back once Bellamy had finished taking a drag. Murphy looked over the backyard. It was large, and there was a small fire pit in the corner. “How’d you land a house like this?”

“My dad left quite a bit of money behind when he died. It all went to me and my sister. So, you know, house.”

“I thought you were here on a scholarship?”

“I am,” Bellamy answered, taking the cigarette from Murphy when he offered it. Murphy didn’t particularly like sharing his smokes, but he felt like he could get used to it if it was Bellamy he was sharing it with. “Which leaves more money for stuff like this.”

“Fair enough,” Murphy nodded. “When did, uh, when did your dad die?”

“I was twelve,” Bellamy answered. He didn’t seem bothered by Murphy’s question, quelling some of his nervousness.

“I was seventeen,” Murphy said instead of, _I’m sorry_.

“What?” Bellamy said around the cigarette in his mouth. Murphy leaned against the brick wall, near the door, crossing his arms.

“When my dad died. I was seventeen.”

“Oh,” Bellamy exclaimed. “I didn’t know he died.”

“You would have if you’d read my poem,” Murphy teased, thankful that Bellamy hadn’t offered condolences.

“The one in the magazine?”

“Yeah,” Murphy put out the spent cigarette against the wall, glancing around for somewhere to throw it. Bellamy took it from his hand, and turned to toss it in a free standing ashtray by the door. Murphy raised an eyebrow. “Thought you didn’t smoke?”

“I don’t. Raven does.”

“Right,” Murphy rolled his eyes.

“And I have read your poem,” Bellamy added. “I read last year’s magazine cover to cover. I tried to get in, they didn’t accept my piece.”

Murphy watched Bellamy then. He didn’t seem jealous, his lips still curved in a half smirk. He seemed impressed, as if he knew that he was unbeatable, but somehow Murphy had beat him without knowing it.

“Interesting,” Murphy said finally.

“So, I’ve definitely read your poem. Guess I just didn’t know it was yours. I’ll have to read it again.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Murphy admitted. “I don’t like people reading my stuff.”

“Why’d you publish, then?”

“It seemed right at the time,” Murphy shrugged. “Now I wish I hadn’t.”

Bellamy erupted in laughter, collapsing against the wall next to Murphy, their shoulders brushing. Murphy leaned forward slightly, fixing Bellamy with a confused look. Bellamy grinned at Murphy when he spoke next.

“Well, guess you’re a true artist then.”

“A true artist?” Murphy questioned.

“Yeah. Only true artists are that finicky. They want to be noticed, but hate it when they actually are. They think they’re the best when they’re creating, but then hate what they create.”

Murphy thought about how it was so much more than just being finicky. About how it was a matter of embarrassment and poorly spelled words and a childhood of making mistakes. He wanted to say, ‘ _It has nothing to do with being finicky and everything to do with being a failure,_ ’ but instead he said, “Is this payback for when I said history kids are unteachable?”

“No,” Bellamy chuckled. “ _That_ was an insult. _This_ is a compliment.”

“Hey,” Murphy defended, though his face was warm and he hoped he wasn’t blushing. Bellamy was watching him carefully, eyes darting between his lips and his eyes. “Unteachable is a compliment.”

“Actually it isn’t, and your logic is flawed.”

“Fuck you,” Murphy laughed, shoving Bellamy’s shoulder. Bellamy only smirked.

“Name a time and place,” Bellamy replied smoothly.

“Oh, so you’re a flirt, too?” Murphy sneered. His mouth felt dry, and he knew that if Bellamy were to kiss him he wouldn’t be able to push him away. But Bellamy didn’t kiss him. Bellamy leaned away and frowned.

“Yeah, I guess so. Sorry.”

Murphy didn’t respond. He just nodded once, and looked away from Bellamy’s freckled face, watching the sky instead.

-

“I think Bellamy Blake is hitting on me,” Murphy said before flopping onto his bed, face buried in his pillow. He stretched his body out, feet pressed against the footboard.

“Welcome home, Princess,” Nathan snorted.

“Bellamy?” Monty sounded surprised. “Like, debate club Bellamy?”

“Are there any other Bellamy’s?” Nathan asked.

Nathan and Monty were stretched out on Nathan’s bed, Monty’s laptop propped up on Nathan’s knees. The two were engrossed in the depths of a _Bate’s Motel_ marathon, currently paused as they listened to Murphy’s lament.

“Oh, shut up,” Monty huffed. “Why do you think this, Murphy?”

Murphy groaned as he rolled over, shoving his arms underneath his pillow. He pressed his cheek against the fabric, making a face at the pair on the bed. Their legs were intertwined, Nathan’s arm around Monty’s shoulder.

“He keeps making all these weird jokes,” Murphy answered.

“Making weird jokes… while he sucks your dick? Or what?” Nathan asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Nathan,” Monty chastised.

“I’m just saying, weird jokes aren’t the same thing as flirting, dude. You gotta give me something more than that.”

“Well I don’t _have_ anything more than that. I just have a feeling.”

“Isn’t he dating Clarke Griffin?” Monty pondered.

“They’re just friends,” Murphy answered. “I asked.”

“You _asked_? You sure it isn’t _you_ doing the flirting?” Nathan accused.

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” Murphy mumbled, burying his face in his pillow. He heard Nathan and Monty laugh, before unpausing their episode. Murphy fell asleep soon after to the cadence of Norman Bates and his wicked mother.

 

* * *

 

 

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	3. Chapter 3

**From: Bellamy Blake**  
**Please teach me how to write poetry.**

Murphy squinted at his phone screen, blinking rapidly against the bright light. The rest of the room was dark, save from the numbers illuminated on his nightstand, reading 2:36 am. Murphy frowned, glancing back to the text message. It had been two days since he and Bellamy’s ‘study session’. They had talked a bit in passing since then, but nothing spectacular had arisen.

Murphy hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. It had taken him three tries to read Bellamy’s message correctly, and he knew he was far too tired to text back correctly. But his fingers ached to tap out a message. He was too involved in Bellamy, too wrapped up in fantasies that were unlikely to actualize.

**To: Bellamy Blake**  
**Cant.**

He decided on a short message, one he couldn’t possibly mess up.

**From: Bellamy Blake**  
**Is it because im a history kid? because i promise im not unteachable.**

Murphy began to type out a response, but got frustrated after having to rewrite it four different times. He let out a low groan and locked his phone, shoving it under his phone in anger. Murphy buried his face in his pillow, and fell back asleep.

-

“Hey Murphy,” Bellamy greeted Monday during Kane’s class. Murphy gave a short nod, before continuing his walk to his seat. Bellamy frowned, watching Murphy, his head lowered.

“Is he okay?” Clarke asked, also watching Murphy.

“I don’t know,” Bellamy answered. “But I can find out.”

Bellamy shouldered his bag, and stood from his seat. Murphy always sat toward the back, everyone knew that. Everyone also knew not to sit beside him, because he was a bit prickly and no good in group projects.

“I’m going to sit with Murphy today,” Bellamy explained, and Clarke just shrugged.

“Go for it,” Clarke nodded toward the back of the room.

Bellamy climbed the ramp, and Murphy didn’t look up from his desk. He was slumped forward, chin resting on his forearm. He blew his hair away from his brow, before noticing Bellamy. Bellamy collapsed into the chair beside him, and Murphy looked around as if paranoid.

“What?” Murphy bit, frowning. “I said hi back.”

“Actually you only nodded,” Bellamy corrected. “And I wanted to sit next to you today. That alright with you?”

“I… Yeah, sure, of course,” Murphy said. He cracked a small smile, the corner of his mouth twitching just a tinge.

“Cool,” Bellamy nodded. “So, uh, everything good?”

“What?” Murphy asked, finally raising his head from the desk.

“You seem a bit,” Bellamy waved one hand in the air in an aimless gesture. “Off.”

“I’m fine, just tired. Maybe somebody shouldn’t keep me up with dumb two am texts,” Murphy accused. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was touched that Bellamy was even asking.

“Which you never responded to, by the way,” Bellamy countered.

“I uh, yeah. I don’t like to text,” Murphy rubbed the back of his neck, looking away. Bellamy didn’t miss the motion, watching the nervous look in Murphy’s green eyes.

“Any reason why?”

Murphy opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Kane’s entrance into the room. Murphy looked between the professor and Bellamy in quick succession, before shaking his head.

“I’ll tell you later,” he hissed, and then fell silent, waiting for class to begin.

Bellamy seemed content with that answer, leaning back in his chair and positioning his notebook to begin writing. Murphy followed suit, but his fingers trembled as he clutched his pen. Kane began lecturing about their upcoming final, and Murphy knew he should have written it down, it was information he would need to know later. But Bellamy was sitting right beside him, and no one ever sat right beside him, and that was the way he liked it. Bellamy could easily look over, glance at his notes, and see all his repeated letters and misspelled words.

Murphy’s breath quickened, and he hoped Bellamy wouldn’t notice. But Bellamy did. He had the good sense to continue looking forward, and not give extra attention to the nervous boy beside him. He had also noticed that Murphy hadn’t written a word since class had started, so he was careful to take detailed notes, just in case Murphy needed them later.

Murphy took a steadying breath and pressed his pen to the paper. The first word was difficult, however, and the second even worse. Bellamy glanced to the sheet, and then back to Kane. He wanted to say something that might calm Murphy down, or make an excuse to give him space, but he couldn’t think of anything sufficient.

“I have to go,” Murphy said suddenly, shoving his notebook in his bag and darting down the aisle. He shuffled along the crowded seats, catching Kane’s attention.

“Mr. Murphy,” Kane called. “Any reason you’re out of your seat?”

Murphy didn’t answer, reaching the middle aisle ramp and ascending down it in a few quick strides. He was out the door in a matter of seconds, and Bellamy stood immediately after.

“He’s sick,” Bellamy explained, following the same path Murphy had taken. “I’ll take care of it. Sorry, Professor.”

Kane didn’t try to stop him as he fled the room, tailing Murphy. When he reached the hall, he caught sight of the hunched figure on the floor, Murphy’s worn leather jacket pulled tight around shaking shoulders.

“Murphy,” Bellamy began, approaching the other boy.

“It’s fine,” Murphy’s voice sounded thick. “I’m just sick.”

“Sick,” Bellamy repeated, standing over Murphy. Murphy glanced up, his brow set. His scowl lost its strength though, due to the soft tremble of his bottom lip. “Okay.”

“Just go back inside,” Murphy muttered, hiding his face in his knees. Bellamy just shook his head and lowered himself to the ground, sitting cross legged beside Murphy.

They were silent for several moments, listening to the sounds of Murphy’s labored breathing and Kane’s muted lecture.

“You’re not helping, you know,” Murphy bit suddenly, still not looking up.

“I’m trying to think of what to say,” Bellamy admitted.

“Say you’re leaving,” Murphy growled, but his voice was still weak.

“I _could_ say that,” Bellamy mused. “Or I could say that my sister has a learning disability, and I understand what it looks like.”

Murphy held his breath. Bellamy paused for several seconds, giving Murphy a chance to speak if he wanted to. He remained silent, so Bellamy pressed on.

“Is it dyslexia?” Bellamy asked.

“It’s nothing,” Murphy raised his head and fixed Bellamy with a glare. “I’m just sick.”

“I see,” Bellamy nodded. He could see the rapid twitch of Murphy’s eyes and knew it was a lie. Bellamy didn’t press this time, though. He was smart enough to know when to stop. “Then I apologize for asking.”

Murphy didn’t say anything, he just returned his face to his knees. He knew Bellamy was just trying to help, and if his sister really did have a similar disorder then he would likely be a good person to confide in. But Murphy had spent his whole life having it ruined by his disorder. He didn’t want it to ruin his relationship with Bellamy, too.

“Alright,” Bellamy said finally, slapping his hands on his knees. “Usually when one of my friends is sick, I take them home and make them soup. Sound like a plan?”

“I don’t have any soup,” Murphy answered.

“I do,” Bellamy sounded far too pleasant, and Murphy grit his teeth. “Come on.”

Bellamy stood, tugging Murphy to his feet as he did so. Murphy clutched his bag to his shoulder and frowned. He followed Bellamy against his better judgement, trudging to the Land Cruiser in a petulant silence. Bellamy kept his hand on Murphy’s elbow longer than necessary, but Murphy didn’t feel much like pushing him away.

They didn’t speak much on the drive. When Bellamy pulled into his driveway, he parked behind a silver Volvo. Murphy raised an eyebrow.

“Raven,” Bellamy explained as they climbed from the car. “She had a morning class. She’s probably sleeping.”

“Okay,” Murphy grunted, following Bellamy through the front door.

Once inside, Bellamy moved into the kitchen, and Murphy took a seat at the small counter. Bellamy began opening and closing cupboards, talking about how Raven always put cans on the wrong shelf when she went shopping. Murphy listened with less interest than he watched. He focused on the slope of Bellamy’s back, his wide palms as he reached for a ladle. Bellamy’s voice was kind as he spoke, and Murphy realized he was making a mistake.

“You were right,” Murphy blurted. Bellamy glanced over his shoulder, confused.

“As much as I like hearing those words, may I ask about what exactly?”

“I’m dyslexic. You were right.”

“I know,” Bellamy said simply, returning to his cooking. Murphy gaped at him.

“You know?”

“Well, I guessed, and then you denied it, so then I _really_ knew,” Bellamy explained, and Murphy wasn’t sure why his confidence was relaxing, but it was. “I don’t know why you didn’t just admit it in the first place, though.”

“Because it’s embarrassing,” Murphy stressed.

“It really isn’t,” Bellamy shrugged. “It’s just an obstacle. Which you overcome pretty well, obviously. I mean, you’re published. And attending college. So, I wouldn’t consider that an embarrassment.”

Murphy was trembling again. Bellamy sounded impressed, sounded _proud_. His mother never looked at it that way, never saw it as ‘just an obstacle’. It was always a defect. Bellamy still had his back to Murphy, was still making soup even though he knew Murphy wasn’t really sick. It made Murphy’s stomach clench.

“Y-your sister?” Murphy stuttered out, because he didn’t know what else to say.

“She’s dyslexic too, yeah,” Bellamy answered a question that hadn’t even really been asked. “I used to help her with all her homework when I still lived up there. When she was diagnosed I got a bunch of books on it, and learned how to make it easier. We would read aloud and stuff. Apparently it helps.”

As Bellamy spoke, Murphy sank lower and lower in his chair, his heart sick. Bellamy was far too kind, far too thoughtful to be around Murphy. He deserved more than he was going to get from someone like Murphy. He would only take from Bellamy’s kindness, take it and hoard it and never properly return it.

Bellamy turned then, two bowls in his hands. He eyed Murphy’s hunched form, looking a bit concerned, before sliding the bowl across the counter. Murphy took it in nervous hands. He met Bellamy’s eyes, hoping to somehow convey how thankful he was. Bellamy only smiled in return.

“So, since we’re skipping class, what do you say we do it properly and have a Mario Kart tournament?” Bellamy looked devious, and Murphy matched his smirk.

“You have no idea what you just suggested.”

-

When Raven awoke an hour later, it was to a lot of cussing. She rolled out of bed, trudging her way into the living room. She knew the sounds of Mario Kart when she heard them. When she reached the doorway, she was surprised to see a dark haired boy brushing shoulders with Bellamy, and not Clarke like she assumed it would be.

“You’re not Clarke,” she commented, depositing herself in a leather armchair.

“What the hell,” Bellamy gasped in faux horror, turning to face the boy beside him. “What have you done with Clarke?”

“I’m Murphy,” Murphy introduced, leaning in close to Bellamy to shove him. Their noses almost brushed with the proximity, and Raven raised her eyebrows.

“Yeah, I know who you are. We had gen chem together last year.”

“Oh, yeah,” Murphy nodded, turning his attention back to the television. Raven watched the two play another round, their lips curled into sneers as the challenged each other. Bellamy had talked nonstop about Murphy since their study session last week. Watching him now, Raven couldn’t really see the appeal. He wasn’t particularly attractive in her opinion, and his eyes had something unnatural about them. But Bellamy seemed taken by the other boy.

Last night she had come home to Bellamy tearing apart the bookshelf in search of last year’s literary magazine. After watching him struggle for about a half hour, she retrieved her copy from her bedroom and shoved it in his hands. He sat back on his heels immediately, kneeling right in the living room, and flipped through the pages in search of something.

“What are you looking for?” Raven had asked.

“I met a kid who wrote a poem in here. I want to read it.”

“Would it by any chance be your _new boyfriend’s_ poem?”

“Yeah, Murphy,” Bellamy answered, finding the page he wanted and reading it frantically. After looking it over what Raven could only assume was four or five times, he shoved the book in her hands.

“Read it,” Bellamy urged. “It’s incredible. Oh my god, it’s incredible.”

And so Raven did. And it _was_ incredible. Watching him play Mario Kart it was hard to believe it was the same person. Raven figured that was how poets were, though. You’d never know how talented they were, especially when they were yelling, “Eat that, fricker,” in your living room.

Raven beat them four times in row before they gave up, and Bellamy offered to take Murphy home. They were arguing about Wario on their way out.

Once they were driving, however, they fell silent. No longer distracted by Raven or the television, they both thought about the weight of the day. Murphy stared out the window as he spoke.

“Hey Bellamy?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks for being cool about everything today.” Murphy ran his hands over his thighs nervously. Bellamy tracked the movement.

“I didn’t really do much,” Bellamy shrugged.

“Yeah, but you helped.”

“Good, I’m glad,” Bellamy flashed Murphy a smile. “And I still have the books from when I was helping Octavia. We could work together sometime. If you’d want.”

“Okay,” Murphy whispered, and he felt like all the air had left his lungs. “I think I’d like that.”

“We can talk more about it sometime soon. I’ll call you.”

Murphy nodded, watching his dorm approach through the windshield. He was hesitant to leave the car. Murphy figured if he had his way, he would never leave Bellamy’s side.

“Can I ask you something?” Bellamy began, shifting his engine into park.

Murphy only nodded.

“If I asked you out on a date, would you say yes?”

Murphy was shocked by the question. A bubbling laugh forced it’s way out of his mouth, and Bellamy glanced out the window nervously.

“That depends,” Murphy began. “Is this a purely hypothetical question?”

“This is a purely _I’m-trying-not-to-make-an-ass-of-myself_ question,” Bellamy chuckled, the look in Murphy’s face giving him hope.

“In that case, yes, I would consider saying yes.”

“Consider?”

“I’m a poet. We’re hard to impress.”

“Oh my god,” Bellamy laughed, finding it impossible to suppress his grin. “Get out of my car.”

“That’s no way to speak to a potential date,” Murphy chastised, gathering his bag.

“Potential date? Maybe not. Pretentious asshole? Definitely.”

“At least I’m not unteachable,” Murphy winked, shutting the car door, and slinking to his dormitory doors. Bellamy watched him walk away, awestruck by the other boy.

-

From: Bell  
Dude. Clarke. Bruh.

**To: Bell**  
**What??**

**From: Bell**  
**I’m going to ask Murphy out.**

**To: Bell**  
**HELL YEAH! When?**

**From: Bell**  
**I don’t know. He said I have to impress him first. How do i impress him?**

**To: Bell**  
**Give him a bj**

**From: Bell**  
**No seriously**

**To: Bell**  
**lol ummm write him a poem**

**From: Bell**  
**Noooooo that would only scare him away.**

**To: Bell**  
**True. I’ve seen your poetry. Okay. Um. We’ll come up with something.**

**From: Bell**  
**GOOD.**

-

“Dudes,” Murphy greeted, banging open his dorm door. He ignored the hasty way Monty and Nathan pulled away from each other, lips slick with spit. “I was totally right.”

“About Kane and Professor Griffin?” Monty asked, leaning away from Nathan, who sat up in the bed.

“What? No. Not about that. Though I _definitely_ still think they’re banging,” Murphy wagged his finger in their direction pointedly. “But no. I meant about Bellamy.”

“Oh,” Nathan said. “You get concrete evidence yet?”

“Sure did.”

“No way!” Monty gasped. “Did he kiss you?”

“No,” Murphy huffed. “But he did ask me if he could ask me on a date.”

“Wait what? He asked permission to ask you out?” Nathan glanced to Monty, who shrugged.

“Yeah, I thought it was weird too.” Murphy grabbed his laptop from the floor and flipped it open.

“Oh my god,” Monty laughed. “That is the most Bellamy-like thing to do.”

“It really is,” Nathan shook his head. “Only him. You sure this dude isn’t from the 1920s, Murph?”

“Could be,” Murphy shrugged. “Don’t mind much though. They had some good looking outfits back then.”

“They also didn’t have hygiene.”

“You win some you lose some.”

“Gross,” Nathan frowned.

“So, did you say yes?” Monty asked.

“Obviously he said yes,” Nathan flapped his hand about uselessly. “He’s over here waxing poetic about the dude’s hygiene issues. He’s smitten.”

“For the record,” Murphy said. “Bellamy has wonderful hygiene, and always smells very nice.”

“Oh god,” Nathan buried his face in Monty’s shoulder, who only patted his head. “I don’t want to hear about it.”

“Furthermore,” Murphy began, but was drowned out by Nathan’s wailing, and Monty’s laughter.

 

* * *

 

 

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	4. Chapter 4

Spring break was quickly approaching, and Murphy was anxious for class to be finished. Unfortunately, that also meant exams were on their way, and for Murphy and Bellamy, that came with a lot less _fake_ study sessions, and a lot more _real_ ones.

As Murphy quickly found, during exam season, Bellamy’s house became a safe haven. Seeing as the library was no longer an acceptable place to study, (Bellamy was still on the run from Jaha), Bellamy took it upon himself to provide somewhere to get work done. He and Raven kept it well stocked with study foods and energy drinks, and every surface became cluttered with textbooks and laptops. Murphy wasn’t the only one utilizing the extra space to write his term paper. Raven was there, obviously, along with Clarke and on occasion, Nathan, Monty, and Jasper found their way there as well. They formed a sort of routine, taking rotations cooking meals for the group and choosing the music to listen to while they worked. It was a good environment, and one Murphy was thankful he had found his way into.

Of course, on the edges of all the studying, there was flirting. Bellamy would sit a bit too close to Murphy on the couch, or pillow his head on the other boy’s thigh while he flicked through one of their course books. It was distracting from time to time, but a pleasant distraction.

They also spent time behind closed doors. The action was far less sexual than one would expect, but no less intimate.

“Keep going,” Bellamy urged. Murphy refused to look at the papers in his hand, choosing to glare at Bellamy instead.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No, Bellamy.”

“Yes, Murphy.”

“Fuck you,” Murphy tossed the document in Bellamy’s direction, sliding backward on Bellamy’s bed until his back hit the wall.

“It will help,” Bellamy placated. He knelt forward, picking up Murphy’s discarded essay. It was a section of his term paper. Bellamy had encouraged Murphy to read it aloud. He said it would kill two birds with one stone, help him edit his paper and work through some of the reading hitches that came with dyslexia. Murphy had figured it was a good idea, until he actually started reading, and felt his cheeks grow hot with embarrassment.

“No, I’m done.”

“I’m not going to make fun of you,” Bellamy said, climbing onto the bed beside Murphy and shuffling toward the other boy. Murphy scooted away, putting distance between the two of them.

“Whatever,” Murphy huffed. “I need a smoke.”

Murphy climbed off Bellamy’s bed, shutting the door loudly behind him. Bellamy stared at the closed door before flopping backwards on his mattress and looking at the paper in his hands. He had only heard the first paragraph of it, but it was sounding incredible. Murphy was undoubtedly talented, and Bellamy had been honestly surprised at how good he was at reading aloud. He had only stumbled a few times, way less than Octavia usually did. Bellamy knew no two cases were the same, but Murphy handled his disorder incredibly well.

Bellamy stared at the first few words, before puffing out his cheeks and blowing the air out with a sigh. He sat up cross legged amongst the blankets, and grabbed his pen from the bedside table.

“Alright, fine,” he said to the empty air. “I’ll read it then.”

Bellamy straightened the papers haughtily, and began reading aloud. He stopped intermittently to mark the sheet, correcting a punctuation mistake or the occasional duplicated letter. When he paused to turn the third page, he caught sight of the figure at the door.

Murphy stood, leaning against the doorframe. His pack of cigarettes was clutched in his trembling hand, and he watched Bellamy with a blank expression. Bellamy was beginning to recognize what it meant, how he covered up distress with apathy.

“I catch mistakes better when I read aloud,” Bellamy blurted. “Sorry. I thought… I thought you left so I figured…”

“I’m out of smokes,” Murphy swallowed. “Came in here to yell at you for taking the last one.”

“I don’t smoke. It was probably Raven.” Bellamy didn’t feel like admitting to Murphy that he’d smoked his last cigarette was a good idea, seeing as Murphy was probably already mad at him.

“Right,” Murphy looked down at the empty pack, which he was now twisting between his hands.

“Here,” Bellamy offered the papers to Murphy. “Take them. I didn’t mean to overstep my bounds.”

“You,” Murphy’s voice shook. “You didn’t. It’s fine.”

Murphy took a step toward Bellamy, then aborted the movement. Bellamy watched with interest before moving over on the bed, giving Murphy space should he choose to sit. He hesitated another moment before crossing the room and climbing onto the mattress beside Bellamy. Bellamy offered him the paper again, but Murphy shook his head.

“Keep reading,” Murphy was only an octave away from pleading. “Start over.”

Bellamy watched him a moment before giving a stiff nod. He did as was asked, starting from the beginning. He didn’t stop for mistakes this time, just skimmed over them and improvised the confusing lines. Murphy watched his lips as he read, feeling sorrowful but not sure why.

As Bellamy reached the second support paragraph Murphy shuffled closer, dropping his head on Bellamy’s shoulder. Bellamy paused briefly, taken by surprise. The two boys touched when they needed to, and even sometimes when they didn’t, but it was never anything like this. Bellamy resumed reading after only a breath though, and Murphy barely even noticed the pause.

Bellamy finished the paper, the ending abrupt and jagged, still unfinished. He waited for Murphy to say something, but was met with silence. After a moment, he dropped the pages to his knees, and said, “Well, overall I thought it was incredible. You have a couple of--”

Murphy cut him off by placing a hand on his forearm. “Stop. Stop talking.”

“Okay,” Bellamy whispered, turning to get a look at Murphy. He had his eyes closed, his brows knit. He looked as though he was concentrating, and Bellamy was certain that even if he asked what was going on he wouldn’t get an answer. He could feel Murphy’s shaky breathing with each inhale, and let out a sigh of his own.

Bellamy tugged his arm free from Murphy’s fingers, replacing it delicately across the other boy’s slim shoulders. Murphy let out a soft sigh, curling closer against Bellamy’s chest. Bellamy pressed his nose into Murphy’s hair, and closed his eyes.

“The words sound so pretty in your mouth,” Murphy whispered, sounding jealous and dazzled all at once.

“They sound prettier in yours. They’re your words, after all.”

“No,” Murphy sighed. “In mine they’re jumbled. In yours they’re perfect.”

There was something in Murphy’s tone that didn’t leave room for argument, so Bellamy stayed quiet. He traced patterns in the gentle sweep of Murphy’s skin, and reveled at the precious boy he held in his arms.


	5. Chapter 5

The last day of class before spring break was filled with a tangible nervous energy. Murphy had hardly slept, and Bellamy’s hands were shaking with the caffeine in his blood. The Kane’s class crew climbed into Bellamy’s truck after turning in their finals, and swung around the corner to pick up Monty and Jasper from their Chemistry exam. Kane hadn’t had a physical test, only a term paper. In some ways, that was more nerve wracking.

“How’d you do?” Bellamy asked as the pair climbed into the backseat beside Clarke.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jasper moaned, but Monty was all smiles. Murphy turned back forward in the passenger seat and let out a dramatic sigh.

“I don’t want to know my scores, don’t want to think about my paper, I just want to get disgustingly drunk,” Murphy huffed.

“Are you even old enough to get drunk?” Bellamy asked, turning his steering wheel.

“Ha, ha, funny,” Murphy sneered. “I’m twenty two.”

“Really? You look twelve.”

Jasper let out a low whistle from the cramped back seat, and Clarke erupted in laughter.

“Oh, fuck you,” Murphy flapped his hand in Bellamy’s direction.

“It was a compliment.”

“That was not a compliment,” Clarke interjected at the same time Murphy said, “Compliment? _Compliment_?”

Everyone began talking at once after that. Monty agreed with Bellamy, while Murphy protested loudly. Clarke accused Bellamy of misunderstanding the word ‘compliment’ and then of finding twelve year olds attractive.

“Okay, okay,” Bellamy shouted. “Murphy, you _don’t_ look twelve. Clarke, I _don’t_ find twelve year olds attractive.”

“But you find Murphy attractive,” Clarke pointed out.

“Yes, but as aforementioned, _he doesn’t look twelve_.”

“He kind of does,” Monty added, and Murphy turned to glare at him.

“You’re ruining my moment, Monty. Bellamy just called me attractive.”

“Oh my god,” Bellamy groaned. “Get out of my car. All of you.”

They were parked in Bellamy’s driveway. It hadn’t really been discussed, but Bellamy had just assumed they would all be heading to his house.

“Wait,” Murphy said. “Did we come to a consensus on getting wasted?”

“I’m down,” Monty said. Jasper nodded in agreement.

“I don’t have any booze. Snacks, but no booze,” Bellamy said. “Murphy could buy us some though, prove he is an adult.”

“How about you _pay_ for it, and _I_ choose it, and I count that as an apology for you hurting my ego?”

“Your ego deserves it,” Bellamy grumbled. “Anyone have any cash?”

The backseat trio coughed up $38.00, with Jasper only offering $2.50. Murphy took the money, and announced that he would accompany Bellamy to the store. The other three headed toward the house to join Raven inside. Bellamy restarted the car, and Murphy dug in his own wallet for cash.

“I was only kidding, you know,” Bellamy said. “You don’t look twelve.”

“I know. I just like giving you shit.”

“You’re a terrible person.”

“A terrible person who you find attractive.”

“I changed my mind,” Bellamy mumbled, but he was grinning easily. Outside the sky was clear, and the day filled with a cool heat. Things felt easy, felt beautiful.

The store trip was unremarkable, and upon return to the Blake-Reyes household, they found it crowded with more people than when they left. Nathan had joined them, sitting on the couch between Monty and Jasper. Raven was in her armchair, and Clarke was barely visible through the kitchen doorway, talking to someone Murphy couldn’t see.

“Oh,” Bellamy said, shifting the paper bag in his arms, bottles clinking. “Am I having a party?”

“Yes,” Raven answered. “I already ordered pizza.”

“It better not have fucking fruit on it,” Murphy complained, walking to the kitchen, carrying the case of beer he’d insisted on.

“Anyone ever tell you that you complain too much?” Bellamy teased, following Murphy to the counter. He began unloading bottles as Murphy slammed the cardboard box down and immediately began tearing open the cardboard. Bellamy took more care, setting the whiskey on the table, the wine directly beside it. He reached in the cupboard for the plastic cup, rolling his eyes as Murphy popped the tab on his first can.

Murphy didn’t notice Bellamy’s judgement, however. He was too busy frowning at the two women speaking to Clarke. Clarke hadn’t yet acknowledged their entrance, so Bellamy cleared his throat, catching the attention of the three women, as well as Murphy.

“Murphy, this is Lexa and Anya. Girls, the alcoholic is Murphy.”

“We’ve met,” Anya said, and Bellamy instantly caught on to the bitterness in her voice. Lexa didn’t seem as cold toward Murphy, but she still seemed far from pleased.

“Okay,” Bellamy dragged out the last syllable for far too long. “Well, cool. Murphy, let’s go see who needs drinks.”

Murphy seemed thankful to be dragged away. Clarke was left in the kitchen dumbfounded as he ducked from the room, Bellamy on his heels.

“There’s booze,” Murphy announced, dropping onto the second couch, beer still in hand.

“That’s… not how I meant… Okay,” Bellamy stuttered, taking a seat beside Murphy.

  
“Score,” Jasper grinned, ducking from the room. The others followed, save for Raven who had asked Monty to get her something.

“So… Why do they hate you?” Bellamy asked bluntly.

“Eh,” Murphy shrugged. “I got them in trouble for cheating in high school.”

“On a test or a person?”

“Test.”

“Who are we talking about?” Raven asked. “Lexa and Anya?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy answered. “Murphy knows them. Is this going to be a problem?”

“Nah,” Murphy assured. “it’s nothing.”

“Good,” Bellamy fixed him with a look that clearly said, _It better not_ , and climbed to his feet. “Music requests?”

Not long after, things were in full swing. Clarke had insisted on a game of Card Against Humanity at the kitchen table, which was gaining volume with every Jack and Coke polished off. Nathan and Monty had chosen not to play, and were instead tossing quarters into a shot glass in the living room. Murphy and Bellamy sat out as well. Murphy because he’d gotten a panicked look in his face at the idea of a game that involved reading aloud, and Bellamy because, well, he wanted to be wherever Murphy was.

“Bellamy,” Raven called from the other room, and Bellamy paused the story he was telling, his hands still raised in a gesture.

“What?” he called back.

“Jasper is asleep in your bed.”

“Just the words I wanted to hear,” Bellamy muttered under his breath before shouting back, “What? Why?”

“He’s really drunk,” that was Clarke’s voice.

“Oh my god,” Bellamy sighed.

“Hell yeah, Mr. $2.50 himself,” Murphy sneered, laughed at his own joke. He leaned back on the couch, and Bellamy draped an arm around his shoulders.

“He’s in there with four women,” Monty lamented. “ _Four women_ , and he just light weights it up...”

“Light weights it up,” Murphy repeated, cackling.

“Don’t feel like he’d have a chance with any of them anyway ,” Nathan admitted. “Raven, maybe. Anya is too angry, and did you _see_ Clarke and Lexa?”

“Oh yeah,” Monty nodded. “I’m confused about that, too. Are they dating?”

“To be honest, I have no idea,” Bellamy admitted.

“You know who _I’m_ confused about?” Nathan said, turning his attention away from Clarke and to Murphy and Bellamy instead, “You two. Are you guys dating, or what?”

“Let it be known I am also confused about this,” Murphy added, looking pointedly at Bellamy, who still had an arm draped over the smaller boy’s shoulders.

“Well, we haven’t been on a date, so I’m going to go with no?” Bellamy said it like a question, and Murphy snorted.

“Whatever, Casanova. Your call.”

“Well, on that tense note,” Nathan said as he began climbing to his feet. “I will be going to the kitchen for more drinks. Requests?”

“Yeah, I got one,” Monty said, also standing. “Take me with you.”

They linked fingers as they left the room, leaving Bellamy and Murphy alone. Murphy snuggled closer to Bellamy, hoping he conveyed his thoughts on the situation. Murphy wasn’t mad at Bellamy, a bit frustrated perhaps, but he could take his time in whatever he was doing. Murphy would wait.

Bellamy, however, had a frown on his face.

“They did that on purpose,” he huffed. Murphy twisted to see Bellamy's expression.

“That’s Nate and Monty for you,” Murphy responded, taking a long drink of his whiskey and coke.

“We aren’t dating, right?” Bellamy asked, and Murphy pulled away to get a better look at him. Murphy shrugged one shoulder.

“No,” Murphy replied. “I left that ball in your court when you asked permission to ask me out, but then never did.”

“You told me I had to impress you first.”

“And I’m still waiting,” Murphy teased, taking another drink. Murphy was unconcerned, to be completely honest. He and Bellamy were close, and he would take what he could get. If this was all it ever was, he could live with that.

“Maybe I only asked that to see if I could get you,” Bellamy challenged, and Murphy’s face fell a bit. Bellamy quickly backtracked. “Or maybe I’m still trying to come up with a good enough way to ask you out.”

“I’ll tell you now, you probably won’t find it. I’m pretty high class.”

“I know you are. You deserve only the best.” Bellamy’s tone was teasing, but there was a bit of truth in his words.

“Mmm,” Murphy hummed, finishing his drink. He was starting to feel a bit dizzy, and just a bit courageous. “But you know what I deserve more than that?”

Bellamy tried to come up with a witty response, but was distracted by the lecherous look in Murphy’s eyes. He shifted on the couch, setting his empty glass down and pulling his feet onto the cushions so he knelt beside Bellamy. Bellamy quickly swallowed down the rest of his own drink, feeling like he might need it. Finally, he choked out a broken, “What?”

“I deserve a really, _really_ good first kiss, because it’s been ages. Think you can deliver?”

“Whatever happened to the impressive first date?” Bellamy asked, leaning back against the couch as Murphy edged forward, straddling Bellamy’s thighs.

“Drunk party makeouts don’t count as dates. You can take me on my awesome first date later.”

“Okay,” Bellamy agreed, before surging forward and capturing Murphy’s lips against his own. Murphy pressed his palms against Bellamy’s chest, tugging at his shirt as he explored the other’s mouth. There was no hesitancy, no reserve. It was all tongue and teeth from the start, and Bellamy didn’t mind. Murphy had always been all about the tongue and teeth, even when they weren’t kissing.

Bellamy pressed his hands against Murphy’s thighs, spread over his lap, and ran his palms along the denim. Murphy let out a groan, and rolled his hips slightly.

“Fuck,” Murphy gasped. “Are we going to be _those_ people at the party?”

“My house,” Bellamy answered, mouth against Murphy’s pale throat. “I’m allowed to be _that_ person.”

“Of course you are, your highness,” Murphy growled, pulling Bellamy’s bottom lip between his teeth. He leaned forward on his knees, lengthening his body until Bellamy’s torso was a straight line from chest to chin. Murphy cradled the back of Bellamy’s head, still connected at the lips, their noses brushing.

Bellamy groaned before saying, “How’d you know I liked being referred to as royalty during sex?”

“Oh god,” Murphy kissed Bellamy’s cheek, then his jaw, “Should have known you’d be one of those talkative types.”

Bellamy slid his hands along Murphy’s slim thighs, running them up to sharp hipbones, and then around to palm at Murphy’s ass, form fitted in his tight jeans.

“Okay,” Murphy groaned, pulling away from Bellamy, who dropped his hands immediately. “Alright, if you’re going to grab my ass then we’re getting out of here. Bedroom?”

“Jasper’s in there,” Bellamy answered, admiring Murphy’s swollen lips and blown pupils.

“Right,” Murphy said, cursing the lightweight. “Raven’s bedroom?”

“ _No_.”

“Bathroom it is then,” Murphy said, climbing from Bellamy’s lap and grabbing his hand. He dragged Bellamy from the room and through the kitchen, Bellamy stumbling on his own feet, still trembling with arousal.

“Did you guys figure your shit out?” Nathan called as they passed through the small crowd, fingers still linked. Bellamy knew they were quite the sight, their clothes already rumpled and their palms pressed together. Bellamy was willing to bet Murphy had already done quite the number on his hair, as well.

“Kind of, we’re having sex, don’t bother us,” Murphy called, pushing Bellamy into the bathroom and slamming the door.

Bellamy let out a slightly hysterical laugh as Murphy walked him backwards against the counter. “Oh my god, Murphy,” Bellamy said, grabbing Murphy’s hips. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Just did,” Murphy responded, mouth already working at Bellamy’s neck. Bellamy groaned, and leaned sideways to flick the lock on the door.

“They knew it was coming,” Bellamy said, pressing his lips to Murphy’s, “I’m sure of it,” he pulled away just enough to speak, “But that doesn’t mean it’s polite,” another kiss, “to just announce you’re having sex.”

“Okay, seriously Bell,” Murphy pulled back, hands frozen where they were tugging at Bellamy’s shirt. “Just shut up. Like, just for a while, okay?”

“Actually,” Bellamy pushed Murphy backwards just long enough to flip them, Murphy’s back hitting the counter solidly. “I _will_ shut up, as long as you promise not to.”

“What?” Murphy asked, breathless as Bellamy slid to his knees, nosing at Murphy stomach as he went.

“Just keep talking,” Bellamy said, hands at Murphy’s fly, “For as long as you can.”

“Oh fuck,” Murphy groaned, hips pressing forward as Bellamy undid his zipper, Bellamy’s hot fingers brushing against his erection. “Not one of these games.”

“Definitely one of these games,” Bellamy hummed, tugging Murphy pants to his ankles, and running his fingertips softly along his exposed hipbones. “You write me a poem, Mr English Major, and I’ll make you cum.”

“I can’t just _write_ a poem,” Murphy argued, whimpering when Bellamy mouthed at his dick, still covered in his boxers.

“Oh I think you can.” In one swift motion, Bellamy tugged down Murphy’s gray boxers, and pressed his tongue to Murphy’s head, swirling it around the sensitive skin.

“Fuck!” Murphy gasped. “Fuck, okay, I just, I can’t think right now.”

Murphy fell silent, and Bellamy pulled back, making it clear that it would only work if Murphy continued to talk. Murphy growled, and pushed his hips forward, grabbing roughly at Bellamy’s hair. Bellamy still didn’t continue the contact until Murphy said, “You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?”

Murphy whimpered when Bellamy put his mouth back on his dick, tongue warm and gentle.

“A really shitty person,” a groan, “And I hate, fuck, I hate that I like you the way I do,” Bellamy’s hands crept along the backs of Murphy’s thighs, “and that you’re so fucking good to me,” a low whine, “because I don’t fucking deserve this.”

Murphy’s knees were trembling, and he twisted his hands in Bellamy’s soft hair to stop them from shaking. He was a bit overstimulated, but Bellamy’s mouth felt so damn good.

“And, christ, and I saw the sunset the other night,” Bellamy’s fingers were digging into the soft skin of Murphy’s legs, “and all I could think was that every cliche about the sun,” Murphy gasped, close to orgasm now, “every damn cliche was nothing compared to you.”

“Nothing compared to you,” Murphy repeated, and then groaned,“Fuck, Bellamy,” as his body tensed with orgasm. He felt guilty for cumming in Bellamy’s mouth, but Bellamy didn’t seem to mind as he swallowed without thought, and continued to press open mouthed kisses to Murphy’s thighs, keeping Murphy steady as he slid down the counter and on to Bellamy’s lap.

“Oh my god,” Murphy muttered, hazily finding Bellamy’s mouth with his own and kissing him greedily. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy agreed, letting Murphy bury his fingers in his hair, gently this time. He stroked at it tenderly, kissing Bellamy’s mouth and cheeks and eyelids. It was as though he was counting freckles with his lips, and when he finished, he buried his face in Bellamy’s neck.

Bellamy slid his arms around the other boy’s back, still resting him on his lap, and held him close.

The blowjob Murphy gave in return was sloppy compared to Bellamy’s, but it didn’t matter, because it was _Murphy_ , and Bellamy had been craving it since the first time he saw him wrap his lips around that cigarette in the student parking lot. It didn’t matter, because he was happy.

 

* * *

 

 

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	6. Chapter 6

When Murphy awoke the following morning, it was in his own bed. He sat up abruptly, confused as to how he got there. He remembered kissing Bellamy, and then doing much more than just kissing Bellamy. He remembered drinking wine afterward -- which was surprising, since he hated wine -- and he was pretty sure he spoke drunkenly to Anya at some point. He didn’t have a black eye, so he guessed it was a good conversation.

Murphy glanced to the second bed, where Nathan and Monty were still fast asleep. He rubbed his eyes, and stumbled to the small coffee machine in the corner of the room. His heart sank as he reached for the coffee grounds, only to find the bag empty. He let out a low grown, and popped a few Advil in his mouth before heading for the door.

He didn’t want to, but it looked like he was going to have to trek to the coffee shop down the street if he wanted to feel human today. Murphy pointedly ignored looking in the mirror on his way out the door. He didn’t need that kind of alarm today this early in the morning.

He shoved his sunglasses on his face as he left his dorm, still dressed in yesterday's rumpled button up and jeans. Outside, he squinted against the sun and dragged his feet along the sidewalk. As he walked, his thoughts traveled to Bellamy, and the events of last night. He had half expected to wake up beside the other boy this morning, wrapped up tightly in Bellamy’s maroon bedsheets and warmed by the neighboring body heat. He bet Bellamy had coffee at his house.

As pleased as he was about the way the night had turned out, there was still a nagging sense that maybe it had been a mistake, and maybe Bellamy would take it back. Murphy pushed the thought away as he ducked inside the coffee shop.

Murphy was too busy squinting at the menu board to notice the blonde enter the shop immediately behind him.

“Murphy?” Clarke asked, stepping to his side. Murphy turned, his reactions a bit too slow, and frowned at her.

“Clarke? What are you doing here?”

“I’m getting Lexa and I something to drink. She lives in the dorms right across from you, did you know?”

“Yeah, I knew,” Murphy said, suppressing a yawn.

“You look like shit,” Clarke commented, stepping forward as the line moved.

“Thanks. You look… like not shit. How are you not hungover?”

“I didn’t drink last night,” Clarke sounded confused, as if this was something Murphy already knew. “Don’t you remember? I drove you home.”

“Oh thank god,” Murphy sighed. “I was hoping there was no DUIs last night.”

Clarke laughed. “No, none that I know of.”

Murphy stepped to the counter then, ordering his coffee and swiping his debit card. He stepped back, clutching the warm cup and waiting for Clarke to finish ordering. Once she had finished she fell into step beside him, two coffees clutched in her hands, and they left the cafe.

“Wait,” Murphy said, sipping his coffee. “We drove you to the party. Whose car did we take?”

“Bellamy’s,” Clarke answered, smirking. “Murphy, exactly _how much_ of last night do you remember?”

“Some. Most of it, actually. Just not the end parts, apparently.”

“Do you remember, um, anything about…”

“Having sex with Bellamy in the bathroom? Yeah, I definitely remember that.”

“Oh good,” Clarke chirped, cheeks pink.

“I take it you got some, too, since you’re bringing her coffee,” Murphy said. He knew he was pressing his boundaries, but Clarke only grinned.

“Oh yeah,” she said proudly. “And I was hoping to go again this morning, but Bellamy has to go ruining my fun… Not that I mind, I mean, I understand. Family obligations and everything, but still.”

“Wait, what?” Murphy’s heart sank, catching the concern in Clarke’s voice.

“Have you talked to Bellamy yet today?”

“No, did something happen?”

“His sister is in the hospital. He is driving to D.C. this afternoon. I’m taking his car back as soon as I drop this off,” Clarke explained, holding up the cup.

“Holy shit,” Murphy fretted. They were approaching his building. “I… do you think he wants to talk to me? Like, should I call him?”

“I _guarantee_ he wants to talk to you,” Clarke said seriously. “I’m surprised he hasn’t called you already.”

“He may have, I left my phone in my room. I think. I don’t actually know where I left it.”

“Come with me to his house then,” Clarke offered. “I’ll meet you right here in ten minutes.”

“Yeah,” Murphy bounced on the balls of his feet. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be right down.”

“Okay,” Clarke looked sympathetic. “Oh, and Murphy, brush your hair. For the love of God.”  
  
Murphy stuck his tongue out at her, before darting up the stairs. He brushed his hair as he was told, and his teeth, and changed his clothes. He tore apart his bedsheets trying to locate his phone, which he ultimately found wedged between the wall and the mattress. Nathan rolled over with a groan during the ordeal, squinting at Murphy’s frantic searching.

“What are you doing?” he grumbled.

“Bell’s sister is in the hospital, I’m heading to this house now. Also, we’re out of coffee. Sorry Nate, gotta go,” Murphy said in a single breath, slamming the door behind him as he left.

Downstairs, Clarke was waiting for him, Lexa at her side. Murphy was in too excited of a state to fully acknowledge her presence, but he did gather that she was coming with them to pick up her own car, which she had been too drunk to drive home last night. Murphy climbed into the familiar backseat of the Land Cruiser, hands flicking over his phone screen as he read the messages from early this morning.

**Missed call from Bellamy Blake (6:45 am)**

**Missed call from Bellamy Blake (8:02 am)**

**From: Bellamy Blake**   
**Hey, I know you dont like to text, but you didnt answer my calls. Octavia got into a car accident and im driving to dc today.**

**From: Bellamy Blake**   
**I just figured you might want to know. if you call and i dont answer, its not because im ignoring you.**

**From: Bellamy Blake**   
**Also, i hate to ask this, but if you’re around today i could really use your help…**

The messages made Murphy’s hands shake. He swallowed once, then twice. He wasn’t sure why it meant so much to him that Bellamy had chosen him for support, but it did. No, scratch that. He knew exactly why it meant so much to him. Because no one ever chose Murphy first, no one ever asked him for help. They had had sex the night before, and Bellamy didn’t push Murphy away like he’d expected, instead he pulled him closer. That’s why it mattered, that’s why Murphy’s heart felt heavy and his eyes wet.

**To: Bellamy Blake**   
**Im onn my way.**

-

Bellamy was on the phone when Clarke let herself into the house, Lexa and Murphy following hesitantly. He was pacing the living room, bags under his eyes and a dejected look in his face. He glanced up, his hair in disarray, and nodded at Clarke. He caught sight of Murphy immediately after, and he faltered slightly.

“Here’s your keys,” Raven said, climbing slowly off the couch. She was wearing her knee brace today. Murphy hadn’t seen her wear it since freshman year. She looked exhausted, and Murphy bet she had been awake at the crack of dawn alongside Bellamy, like the devoted friend she was.

“Thanks,” Lexa said, taking the offered object. Clarke hesitated, watching Bellamy who was pacing again, talking quickly into the receiver.

“He’s been on and off it all morning,” Raven explained, watching him. “Woke me up at 5:00 am talking on it.”

“Should I…” Clarke gestured her hand uselessly. It didn’t matter what she was trying to convey, the answer was no.

“He’s a mess. You should probably just go,” Raven’s voice was not unkind, but she sounded protective. She turned her attention to Murphy then. “And I’m not sure exactly why you’re here, but you should probably leave, too.”

Murphy stood up taller, looking to Bellamy, and then back to Raven.

“Nah,” he said. “I’m good here.”

“Look, he’s really busy right now. He has to pack his stuff, and he still hasn’t been able to get ahold of his mom--”

“Then I’ll help him. I’m not leaving, Raven.”

They were face to face now, and Clarke was hovering nearby, worried they would start yelling soon. But they didn’t. Raven just nodded once and stepped away.

“Whatever, you can babysit him, then. I’m going back to bed.”

Murphy watched Bellamy as Raven retreated to her room, and Clarke and Lexa took their leave. He had his head down, and rubbed his forehead in agitation. Murphy ached to touch him, to wrap him in his arms and hold him steady. He wanted to paint him with words, also. To write this moment down, capture the anguish and turmoil of what had started as a promising morning, leaving Bellamy to finish his call in private. All the worst days did, he supposed.

Bellamy caught Murphy’s eyes, and he knew then he made the right choice staying. He looked stressed and desperate, and Murphy just gave a quick nod before disappearing in the kitchen. He found his way to the coffee pot, and poured out the cold coffee sitting in the bottom. With a new pot brewing, Murphy began to dig in fridge, considering the leftover pizza before scrapping the fridge idea all together. Instead, he opened the cupboard to the left of the stove, remembering Bellamy saying, “It’s the second shelf, I don’t know why she can’t get that. _Second_ shelf,” and recovering a can of chicken corn chowder.

The soup was almost warm enough to taste decent when Bellamy fell silent in the other room, and wandered his way into the kitchen. Murphy noticed the absence of Bellamy’s voice from the soundscape, and had heard the soft shuffle of socks on carpet, but didn’t turn around.

After several moments of suffering through the prickly feeling of eyes on his back, Murphy said, “Need something, Your Highness?”

“Are you making me soup?” was Bellamy’s gruff reply, his voice thick with stress and lack of sleep.

“The way I see it,” Murphy answered. “It’s not that different from the time you made me soup when I was not-sick. Now it’s your turn to be not-sick.”

Bellamy didn’t respond. The silence was filled with the soft shuffling of socked feet once more, this time ending in Bellamy’s arms around Murphy’s slim waist. Bellamy pressed his nose against the back of Murphy’s neck, nuzzling against the short hair there. Murphy froze for a moment before dropping one hand to where Bellamy’s rested on his stomach, intertwining their fingers.

“You okay, Casanova?”

“No,” Bellamy whispered, holding him tighter.

“Okay,” was all Murphy said in response. It was like their first night on the porch all over again, whispering secrets about their fathers, but offering no pity, only strength.

Murphy turned off the stove once the soup was finished, placing the ladle on the adjoining countertop. Murphy reached both hands down to cover Bellamy’s, removing them from his waist. Bellamy began to pull away at the same time Murphy began to turn around. He dropped Bellamy’s hands and cupped his face instead. They watched each other for a long moment before Murphy pressed a fluttering kiss to Bellamy’s bottom lip.

When they separated, Murphy hardened his expression and herded him to the counter, forcing him to sit and eat. Bellamy did so looking a bit lost and forlorn. Murphy began cleaning the pan he’d used to cook.

“Alright,” Murphy said sternly. “How serious was the crash?”

“I’m not sure exactly, I haven’t gotten a straight answer. My Aunt said it isn’t critical, so, I guess that?”

“Okay,” Murphy leaned against the counter, drying the pan. “And when are you leaving?”

“As soon as I finish this soup.”

“Absolutely not.”

“What?” Bellamy sputtered.

“When did you wake up?”

“Um… I… First call was at about four a.m., so yeah, around then.”

“You’ve had like two hours of sleep, Bell. It’s a seven hour drive to D.C. You won’t make it.”

“I’ll stop somewhere. Buy a couple Red Bulls. I’m fine.”

“It’s not safe.”

“What’s the alternative then, Murphy?” Bellamy sounded angry now, his spoon clinking against the bowl.

“I’ll drive,” Murphy offered, and Bellamy faltered a bit.

“You’re not coming, Murphy.”

“I don’t need to _come_. I can just drive you. I’ll catch a bus back, or get a hotel. I don’t even have to meet your sister if you don’t want me to. But I’m not letting you drive up there alone.”

“Murphy…”

“Look, if you don’t want me to be involved in your family, fine, I get that. But I’m not letting you kill yourself.”

“It’s not about that,” Bellamy protested, looking down at his empty bowl. His arguments were growing weak. Nobody had ever fought so hard to protect him before, even if it was just from himself. “I _do_ want you to meet my family. I just…”

“Just what?”

“I don’t know,” Bellamy dropped his face to his hands, rubbing his eyes. “I really don’t know. You’re right. I don’t want to put you out, though. It’s your spring break.”

“Which I was hoping to spend with you, anyway. So, come on. Finish packing, we’ll swing by my place, and you can sleep on the ride. Let’s go, go, go,” Murphy triumphed, clapping his hands. Bellamy gave him a small smile and a kiss on the cheek before disappearing into his bedroom, dropping his bowl in the sink on the way.

Murphy grinned to himself, wandering into the living room while he waited. Murphy knelt in front of the CD case, choosing a few albums for the road. He piled them into a plastic bag, meandering through the room. He stopped in front of the bookshelf, trailing his fingertips along the spines. After a moment's hesitations, he tossed three books into the bag as well. The first being a worn copy of _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone_ , the second, a hardcover edition of his personal favorite book, Mary Shelley's _Frankenstein_ , and the last being a familiar literary magazine, one with his own name printed somewhere in the pages.

Murphy knew bringing the books wasn’t a particularly good idea. But so far he’d gotten by on bad ideas, and turned out alright. He figured he’d see where this one lead.

Bellamy emerged not long after that, and after a quick stop at Murphy’s dorm, where he hastily packed a duffle bag, and the gas station, where they loaded up on gasoline and energy drinks, they were on the road. Murphy took first shift, and Bellamy let his head fall against the window. He watched the buildings pass by from the highway for as long as he could before his eyes drooped shut.

Murphy found his hand across the middle console. He laced their fingers, and Bellamy gave a gentle squeeze before falling asleep.

Bellamy awoke to the soft sounds of Led Zeppelin playing through the radio, and Murphy humming along unaware of Bellamy’s consciousness. Bellamy kept his eyes closed, feeling the sweat slick connection of their fingers, their clasped hands resting on Bellamy’s thigh; feeling the soft rumble of the road beneath him, and the rattle of the window against his temple.

He was terrified for Octavia. If he lost her, he lost everything. She always had been and always would be the only thing in his life that mattered. Bellamy wondered if Murphy had anyone like that.

Bellamy cracked his eyes open finally, unclasping their hands and stretching. Murphy watched the movement out of the corner of his eye.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Murphy greeted. Bellamy grunted in response.

“You know,” Bellamy said, voice thick with sleep. “This isn’t how I imagined waking up next to you.”

“You’ve imagined waking up next to me?” Murphy asked with a smirk, glancing to Bellamy briefly.

“Tons of times. And you know what the best part about the imagination is? You aren’t a dick in my fantasies.”

“Oh, they’re fantasies now? I’m flattered.”

“Shut up,” Bellamy grumbled, rubbing his eyes and glancing around at the scenery. “Do you want me to drive?”

“I want you to chug a Redbull, and _then_ I want you to drive,” Murphy answered seriously, and Bellamy turned in his seat, reaching for the plastic bag that rested on the back seat.

“Yes, sir,” Bellamy agreed, grabbing a can.

Bellamy opened it with a hiss, and tipped it to his lips. Murphy watched the movement before swallowing and clearing his throat.

“Hey, Bellamy,” Murphy began. “So, I was thinking while you were asleep, and I just… There’s something I want you to know.”

“Okay,” Bellamy said, waiting.

“I’m not here because we’re boyfriends or whatever it is that we are. It’s because you’re pretty much the best friend I’ve ever had.”

Bellamy watched Murphy closely, studied the way his throat worked as he made his admission. His voice was thick and serious, and Bellamy’s heart swelled.

“Yeah,” Bellamy agreed. “Yeah, same for me.”

“Okay.” Murphy couldn’t contain his smile. He was starting to feel antsy and exhausted from the drive, the scenery all melding together as he drove on. Even though part of him felt miserable, and more than a bit hungover, it was overpowered by the part of him that felt warm and safe. It made him want to write. Murphy only ever wrote when he was lonely or in love.

“You know what thought? I’m not really sure we’re boyfriends. We still haven’t been on that first date.”

“Oh shut up,” Murphy laughed. “I was only kidding about that, you know?”

“I know you were,” Bellamy said, reaching across the console to steal one of Murphy’s hands from the steering wheel. “But you were also kind of serious.”

Murphy smiled, and let Bellamy trace the lines on his palms. Murphy pulled off the highway not long after that, and the pair stopped for a bathroom break, followed by a quick make out session against the passenger side door. Once they’d separated, Murphy climbed in the truck and Bellamy took the wheel.

Murphy began fiddling with the seat controls the moment they hit the highway. He pulled it forward only to immediately lean it back. He was entertained by the mechanical humming noise it made. Once he found a suitable position, and annoyed Bellamy enough that he made a huffing noise, he began digging in the plastic bag he’d packed.

“Thank God,” Bellamy said. “I was getting tired of Zeppelin.”

“Tired of Zeppelin?” Murphy paroted. “My God, it’s like I don’t even know you.”

“Put in AC/DC,” Bellamy requested, jamming the eject button on the stereo.

“Didn’t bring them,” Murphy recovered a CD from the bag, popping open the case. “Brought The Killers though.”

Bellamy let out a deep sigh. “I suppose that’ll do.”

“Who’s the whinger now?” Murphy put the CD in, keeping it low enough that they could still talk. He placed the empty case on the dashboard and began organizing the CDs into a neater pile. He pulled the books out as he did so, resting them on his lap.

“You gonna read to me?” Bellamy asked, glancing sideways.

“Yes, Dear,” Murphy said, sarcasm thick in his voice.

“You should,” Bellamy shrugged. “I love Harry Potter.”

“But,” Murphy dragged out the single syllable, “do you love hearing me _fuck up_ Harry Potter?”

“Actually, yes, so get reading,” Bellamy’s voice was commanding. It wasn’t quite a demand, but close to it. Murphy frowned at the book cover for several long moments, tracing the letters with his fingertips. He had read aloud in front of Bellamy a handful of times before, each ending in frustration. Bellamy was kind though, and didn’t make snide comments like all the kids in his high school English classes had. Like his own mother had.

Murphy let out a frustrated groan and flipped back the front cover. “Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much…”

Bellamy tore his eyes away from the road for just a second, long enough to view Murphy in all he was. He sat hunched over the book, his shaggy hair falling forward over his green eyes. He wore his stupid leather jacket over one of his classic gray button ups and though he looked exhausted, he still looked gorgeous.

When Bellamy laughed, it wasn’t at the words Murphy mispronounced or the pauses he took to focus on certain paragraphs. He laughed at Harry’s misfortune and Hagrid’s honesty. It filled Murphy’s usually steeled heart with warmth and security. He trusted Bellamy entirely. To Murphy, this was a new feeling.

At the end of the third chapter, Murphy stopped and closed the book in his lap. Bellamy frowned, but didn’t ask why they’d stopped. He knew Murphy was getting upset, the pauses between words growing longer and more tense. Murphy dug in his bag for something and Bellamy cleared his throat.

“I forgot how much of a–”

“Stop,” Murphy commanded, and Bellamy realized this was the trend of things. Bellamy would try to end the awkward silences that fell upon them, and Murphy would force them to live in them just a moment longer. “I want to read you something I’m not going to mess up.”

“Honestly, you didn’t really–”

“Bellamy.”

“Okay.” Bellamy didn’t meet Murphy’s eyes. He just watched the road and hoped he hadn’t pissed off the firecracker beside him.

Murphy flipped through the pages of the magazine. He knew the location of his poem by heart, from days spent ghosting over it and nights spent fretting over the reality of it all. When he turned to it he began to read; though it was really more like recite, because he was a poet, and poets knew their words as well as they knew their own thoughts. He could forget the his own address, but he would never forget the next line.

> _My mother told me that my name was sacrilegious._  
>  _That was after she told me I had a heart like Hades,_  
>  _and I said_ , Mother, Mother,   
> Hades isn’t the bad guy, haven’t you read the myths?  
>  _But apparently I’ve always liked asking questions_  
>  _when I already knew the answers,_  
>  _because if she knew the tales she would have named me_  
>  _Prometheus, and hung me for my sins._
> 
> _And beside an old, worn gave I fell to my knees,_  
>  _and begged,_ Father, Father please,  
>  You could have changed the world.  
>  _But he named me all wrong._  
>  _And if I had my way, they’d call me Dionysus,_  
>  _And I’d rise him from the grave,_  
>  _and save him from his time._

When Murphy finished, Bellamy was breathless. He’d read the poem before, but it was nothing like hearing it from Murphy’s own mouth. The emphasis was right where it belonged, the inflection of the word ‘Father’ saying more than any sentence could have. Bellamy opened and closed his mouth speechlessly, and Murphy counted it as a compliment.

“I was going to call it ‘Norman Bates Doesn’t Have Anything On Me’, but decided against it,” Murphy said, out of need to break the silence more than because it was true.

“It’s so fucking good, Murphy,” Bellamy said, choosing to ignore the joke.

“It’s not my best.”

“Then I’m not sure I can handle your best.”

“I’m not sure either,” Murphy teased, but it was half hearted. He felt worn and anxious all at once, pleased with Bellamy’s praise, but slightly terrified of it.

“Why Dionysus?” Bellamy asked, and if he was being honest, he’d been meaning to ask since he first read it.

“Well, he’s the Greek god of--”

“Wine, I know,” Bellamy interrupted. “Historical lit major, remember?”

“I was going to say ‘of madness’, but I appreciate the interruption,” Murphy bit back, and Bellamy blushed. “Anyway, it’s not really about that. Dionysus got his mother killed, and then saved her from the Underworld as an apology.”

“I remember,” Bellamy said softly.

“I always familiarized with that. I mean, I killed my dad. I’d save him if I could.”

“Murphy, you didn’t kill your dad.”

“I kind of did though,” Murphy wasn’t looking at Bellamy. He was staring out the window. “If I hadn’t have been sick, he wouldn’t have stolen what didn’t belong to him. If he hadn’t stolen, he wouldn’t have gotten shot.”

“No one can blame you for that though,” Bellamy argued.

“ _I_ can. And I do. So, just… don’t.”

“Okay,” Bellamy whispered, staring directly ahead. Murphy let out a huffy sigh and twisted his fingers in agitation. He gripped the book in his hands, and then dropped it to his lap once more. After another huffy breath he took Bellamy’s hand in his own, and traced the shape of Bellamy’s knuckles gently. Bellamy let him do so, and gave a soft smile.

They would be okay. He knew they would. Murphy was finicky, Bellamy had been right about that. He was distrustful of most, and hateful of even more. But he was also full of love, and of more devotion than Bellamy had ever known.

It was because he was a poet. That’s just the way poets were.

The trip lasted a week, and if you asked them how it went, they would say it went perfectly. Not the type of perfect that meant _flawlessly_ , the type of perfect that meant in spite of all the bad, it made them feel good. The type of perfect that meant even though they didn’t get to spend much time together the first night, because Bellamy was at his sister’s bedside and busy arguing with his mother, the second night they woke in Bellamy’s childhood bed, twisted into one another.

The type of perfect that meant Octavia’s three broken ribs, and shattered wrist, didn’t stop her from arguing at the top of her lung with Murphy over Star Trek canon while they sat in the Blake living room together once she was released from the hospital. She told Bellamy that she thought Murphy was a prick. When Bellamy asked why, she said, “He just _is_. I like him, though. Keep him.”

The kind of perfect that meant when they sat on the rooftop and watched the sunset over the distant ocean, Bellamy had to ruin the moment by saying, “Hey! We could count _this_ as our first date.”

Murphy vehemently objected.

He didn’t object years later, though, when a warmhearted girl at a company party asked, “How’d you two get together?” and Bellamy answered, “We fell in love watching a sunset over Washington D.C.”

Because while it wasn’t technically true, Murphy didn’t care much for technicalities. That’s just the way poets were.

 

* * *

 

 

Follow me on [tumblr](red-0ak-tree.tumblr.com) for murphamy shenanigans! 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here's the thing, I /know/ this ending is rushed. And I promise, it was intentional. I never intended to write the hospital scene (though I have thought about writing it as a one shot and posting it separately somewhere down the line), because I wanted to leave it open and just a bit ambiguous. So go ahead, imagine it how you want it. Hell, you can even write it if you want (if you do, I'll link it to this one!!). 
> 
> Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed, and leave me a review if you feel so inclined!


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